Emissary

by Fiona McIntosh

  “That’s a clever analogy, Odalisque Ana. You spend a lot of time with the dwarf, I hear. Do you notice any moments of clarity with him, though? Could he be pretending, do you think?”

  She stopped walking, the Elim behind her having to quickly halt. “Grand Vizier, why are you asking me this odd question?” and he could hear the soft tremor in her voice.

  “Oh, nothing.” He shrugged, intrigued now by her flustered response. Was she hiding something? “Simply baffled by him,” he said mildly, encouraging her to continue by his side.

  “But you’ve known him for many years, surely? How could I throw any more light on his sanity?”

  Maliz was taken aback. She was certainly direct and very composed for someone of such a tender age. Definitely a match for the Zar. “I have known him for many years. For all his insanity, Pez has always made it very clear that he detests me.”

  She laughed. “Yes, he can be contrary to certain people.”

  “Who else does he dislike, would you say?”

  Ana hesitated, then said carefully, “Grand Vizier, I don’t think it is my place to comment.”

  “Well, let me offer some ideas,” he said, airily. “There’s myself, the Valide certainly, and without doubt, Salmeo. I’ve noticed personally that his hostility is carefully directed and often disguised as humor. But it is never directed at the Zar, never at you presumably, Ana, never at the Spur.”

  He watched her bristle at the mention of Lazar. He’d definitely hit a nerve there. He smiled inwardly. How delicious this was—secrets upon secrets. “Of course you know the Spur has also returned to us from the dead,” he continued, giving up on the other thread of conversation for it was leading nowhere anyway.

  “Yes,” she replied, brisk and to the point.

  “Ah, is he one of the people you hate?”

  “I told you, I hate everyone.”

  “Including me?”

  “Yes.”

  “How sad. I thought we were getting on rather well.”

  “That’s not the same as liking someone, Grand Vizier.”

  “No, indeed. You have a good grip on diplomacy, Odalisque Ana, and that’s why you’ll make a fine emissary for our Zar.”

  “Grand Vizier,” she said, her tone fractious, “you promised me an explanation.”

  Maliz was mindful of how little time they had. He would need to be brief. “I did. Very simply, a Galinsean ship is sitting in our harbor, having brought two Romean dignitaries. They bring a declaration of war.”

  “Here in the palace, threatening war?” she asked, incredulous.

  “Not openly. But we have some sticky territory to maneuver through as we convince the Galinsean royalty that Spur Lazar is alive and well. Perhaps we can say the execution was a jest and apologize profusely about how the Galinseans don’t share our sense of humor?”

  She sneered at his sarcasm. He couldn’t see her mouth but her eyes were incredibly expressive. Maliz found he was enjoying goading her, watching the spark of anger flare.

  “But why is Spur Lazar so important?”

  “Ah, and now you have hit the crux of the matter. I cannot explain this, but from what I gather, if he is dead so are we and thus we must convince them that blood flows strongly in his veins.”

  “How does this involve me?”

  “My dear Ana, have you not realized that you are the only person who speaks Galinsean with such fluency?”

  “The Zar does,” she countered.

  “And you know full well that it is not the same language that he speaks.”

  She nodded, abashed. “He speaks an ancient form of it.”

  “Which makes absolutely no sense to our Galinsean dignitaries.”

  Her frustration got the better of her. “Spur Lazar is alive! Lyana save me,” she cursed. “Why can’t he just go and present himself?”

  Maliz stopped short. “Now why would you call down the help of the Goddess?”

  “I”—she faltered—“a slip, Grand Vizier. I admit I support the role of the priestess. But I have never openly practiced,” she assured him.

  “That’s right,” he mused, “when you escaped the first time, they found you in the Sea Temple, didn’t they?” He nodded for her. “Lyana’s temple.”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  “It’s…unusual.”

  “Are you a hater of the Goddess, too, Grand Vizier?”

  He liked the way she attacked when cornered. “I’m afraid so. I follow Zarab, child.” He stored her “slip” away. Perhaps he shouldn’t take his eye off Ana—or Pez, for that matter. She had been far too careful when discussing the dwarf, and her love for Lyana was rather damning. Still, she herself wasn’t Lyana—that he was utterly certain of, and was strangely pleased about. Killing this feisty and beautiful woman would be a shame.

  “My spiritual leanings are irrelevant, Grand Vizier—you were explaining to me why Spur Lazar could not sort out the situation by presenting himself.”

  “I can’t explain that because I am not privy to the details. But the Zar seems to feel that that is not the best strategy.” He had decided that Ana should learn the truth of Lazar’s parentage from the lips of others. It would make for excellent entertainment, he was sure.

  “And that leaves me—that’s why I was plucked from the death waters,” she finished.

  “Correct. You speak fluent, current, and courtly Galinsean, as we all understand it. As I said earlier, you are now the single-most-important person in the whole of Percheron, save the Zar himself.”

  “No wonder Salmeo and the Valide are so disgusted.” He laughed with genuine mirth at her comment and again she stared at him, trying to work him out. “Forgive my indiscretion, Grand Vizier.”

  “Nothing to forgive, my dear, I find them both slippery and conniving, to say the least.” Now she looked shocked and he laughed again. “I suppose I shouldn’t be admitting that to an odalisque.” She shook her head, her eyes telling him she was puzzled by him, perhaps a little frightened. “Then we have both shared a secret that the other must protect. You have told me of your love for Lyana and I have told you of my hate for two very important people in the palace. Are we conspirators?”

  The eyes behind the veil narrowed.

  “You have nothing to fear from me, Odalisque Ana. Whatever you’ve heard about me—you should know that I am loyal to Zar Boaz. In fact, as you may have noticed, I have become very close to him. I don’t care for what his mother might advise him, or for where the fat black eunuch might lead him.” He watched his words take effect—a fragile bond suddenly linking them; he could see it reflected in those green eyes. “I will do whatever’s necessary to protect the Zar and his personal interests rather than follow his grasping mother’s agenda. We are fellow haters, Ana. Your secret is safe with me.”

  She hesitated only briefly. “Then so is yours, Grand Vizier,” she replied.

  “Good. What happened to the black eunuch boy, by the way?”

  Her eyes misted and took on a faraway look. “The bird of sorrows is dead,” she said sadly. “They managed to drown Kett.”

  Maliz froze. Forcing himself to move on before Ana noticed his start, he finally found his voice. “Kett, that’s right. Why did you call him the bird of sorrows?” he asked, trying to cover the choked feeling in his throat.

  Ana was still talking in a dreamy voice. “Oh, he called himself the Raven. It’s funny, I always thought of him as a little black bird, scared by his own dark shadow sometimes and yet always courageous when he needed to be.”

  Maliz could feel his body trembling now. He was close, very close. He had won a small amount of Ana’s trust and she had delivered something exquisitely important to him in a moment of carelessness. Ana might not be Lyana but she was involved in the struggle for the Goddess’s supremacy. Perhaps her involvement was inadvertent or only minor but this girl was his first real clue to his prey. He could not keep her any longer from her duty—they had arrived at the Throne Room—but he must keep her close,
find an opportunity to interrogate her further. “We are here, Ana. Zar Boaz is counting on you—in fact all of Percheron is counting on you, including your own family—to save us with your eloquence and diplomacy.”

  He knew the mention of family would add some extra clarity to her focus. Ana nodded. “I am ready, Grand Vizier.”

  He smiled warmly. “When we are not in formal situations, you must call me Tariq. Thank you for your discretion and trust. I will help you in your endeavors all I can.” He had sensed where her loyalties now lay. “Perhaps I can get a message to your family, send them something? Money?”

  Her eyes shone. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “Because I have no one to spoil and I’m glad you were rescued and we had this opportunity to get to know each other a little. You hold my secrets now. For keeping them between us—for your friendship—let me reward you in the way I know will count.”

  “We are not friends, Grand Vizier…not yet. Not money but a message, yes, or even news that they are well would mean everything to me.”

  “Consider it done, child.” Before she could say more, he assured her, “I can find out where they are.” He smiled like a kindly uncle. “Now, here we go…impress.”

  Ana nodded her silent thanks. Behind the shrouded eyes of Tariq, the demon Maliz smiled.

  21

  Ana’s shock at seeing Lazar again—blond, bearded—al-most unnerved her as she entered the chamber. She took the few moments as she knelt to her Zar to compose herself. In the fleeting second that their eyes met, she saw that Lazar looked as full of dread and discomfort as she felt. She could see the toll that his fight to survive had taken on him.

  “Ah, gentlemen,” Boaz began. “This is Odalisque Ana. Rise, Ana.”

  She did so, though she kept her eyes lowered. The Grand Vizier stood protectively alongside her. She could feel the weight of Lazar’s stare, feel the heat of it sear past her veil and onto her skin, where it rested like a lingering kiss.

  “Ana, you may remove your veil,” Boaz said gently. “I want you to meet some esteemed guests of Percheron.” It was also a command to raise her eyes. She did as her Zar bid and ignored the flare of pleasure in the strangers’ eyes as they looked upon her fully. “This is Marius D’Argenny,” Boaz said, his hand gesturing toward an older, silver-haired man with a stern face but lively eyes. “And this is Lorto Belsher. Neither speaks Percherese but I have told them you can speak a Galinsean that they will understand.” She looked at the Zar and he gave her an embarrassed but encouraging smile. “You and I will talk privately shortly. Please go ahead, Ana.”

  She could feel Lazar’s presence to her left as if he were a glowing brazier, radiating heat, and despite her anger and desire to be ice to him, she felt the pull of that warmth and the comfort it could offer. The thought of feeling his arms wrap around her, hearing him tell her he loved her, that he had never meant for her to suffer by his actions…the pull of him was so seductive, she felt herself sway slightly.

  “Ana?” It was Boaz again, gentle but firm.

  She rallied, forced herself to ignore the familiar yet strange man nearby, and she smiled for the visitors, before, in flawless, courtly Galinsean, she said, “We welcome your honorable presence in the city of Percheron,” then bowed her head softly.

  Both men smiled gently and explained the need for an emissary. A lengthy conversation ensued that only Ana and Lazar could follow. Boaz and his Vizier could do little more than settle sympathetic expressions on their faces and hope that Ana’s words hit the right chord.

  At some point Ana realized that Lazar had joined the discussion as well—offering her helpful insights into the ways of Galinsean royalty. She had paused, nodded, but still not looked at him, and only now turned fully to gaze upon the man at length—the man who dominated her thoughts, had been her reason for living, and indeed for dying. His golden hair suited him and suddenly no longer looked strange but right. The beard, however, hid the sculpture of his face and she longed to see it removed, imagined herself smoothing her hand across that firm jaw he ground so hard.

  There was such sorrow reflected in his pale eyes that it nearly undid her. She felt a dry sob catch in her throat, but the occasion demanded she carry herself with dignity this day. Boaz needed it from her and it was the least she could do for the Zar, considering the way she had abused his trust. As well, her own family’s safety burned in her mind. She did not want war to visit Percheron.

  “Spur Lazar, pardon my ignorance, and, gentlemen, perhaps you’ll forgive me for not appreciating the subtleties of the background to this situation, but I have to wonder why you three cannot simply return to the court of Galinsea. Lazar’s presence would surely negate the need for war.”

  Marius gave her a soft smile but deferred to the Spur.

  Lazar cleared his throat. “Yes, Odalisque Ana, that is the obvious path to follow…except I cannot.”

  Just to hear him speak her name again made her feel weak. She clenched her nails against the palm of one hand to steady herself. “May I ask why?”

  “It is because I have been banished from that court,” Lazar answered, his tone direct but his words less so; she sensed his discomfort.

  “I see.” She hesitated but then persisted: “Again, forgive my dullness here, gentlemen, but is it normal for Galinsea to go to war over someone they don’t care about?”

  “It is Lucien’s status that is the problem, my dear,” Marius replied.

  “Lucien?” She looked at the old man quizzically.

  “I am Lucien,” Lazar cut in. She saw him take a slow breath as if working hard to control his emotions.

  She stared at him for a long time. When she spoke again her voice was colder. “And, sirs, if you’ll permit my question, who is Lucien to the Galinsean court?”

  This time Lazar chose not to answer. Marius flicked a glance his way and then replied for him. “Odalisque Ana, I realizepeople here are only just learning the truth of your Spur’s background. I know how difficult this must be for him and for the Percherese Crown. But these are dire times and I have to placate an angry King. Before you, Odalisque Ana, stands Crown Prince Lucien, heir to the throne of Galinsea.”

  Ana’s already unbalanced world rocked on a new axis. She felt dizzy at the revelation, but through the confusion everything about Lazar suddenly made sense to her. She understood his habit of secrecy, his closed-off emotions, his aloofness. None of that realization, however, helped relieve her sense of betrayal. He had deceived her, had deceived everyone.

  “Royalty,” she said, as if testing the word, then she gathered up her pain in the way she was becoming used to and put it aside. “Thank you. Now I understand why you need to involve a third party.”

  “You speak our language beautifully, Odalisque Ana,” Lorto said.

  She smiled, liking both the Galinseans for their sincerity. “Thank you, sir.”

  “In any other situation, you would be most acceptable,” Marius was quick to add.

  Lazar frowned, and Boaz, who had been watching the conversation carefully, obviously picked up that there was a problem. “What is it?” he interrupted. “Ana seems to be discoursing well with them.”

  “She is flawless; they like her very much,” Lazar reassured him. “It seems we have hit a snag. I’m about to find out why, my Zar. Please indulge us a few moments longer.” After Boaz nodded, he turned to Marius. “Why is Ana not suitable?”

  “Majesty,” the man began, apology in his tone, “Lorto and I can certainly vouch that we have seen you, conversed with you, and that you are well. The emissary is still required to explain Percheron’s part in this. It is obvious something has occurred here for your friend and former servant to bring such damning news. You cannot expect the Galinsean Crown to simply accept that its heir has been executed by a foreign ruler.”

  Lazar’s jaw began to work. Ana knew the sign that he was losing patience and addressed the Galinsean. “Marius, sir, tell me how we can make this go smoothly for Percheron
. As you rightly say, Laz—forgive me, Crown Prince Lucien is alive,” she said, trying not to load his title with her bitterness, “and Zar Boaz wishes to assure Galinsea that there was never an intention to execute your heir.”

  “We have no time for explanations, now,” Lazar growled to his countrymen. “I brought the damage on myself. There is a quaint law in Percheron that allows its people to take punishment on behalf of others. Let’s just say I exercised my rights in this realm.”

  “But Jumo conveyed that you were dead.”

  “He didn’t know I was alive,” Lazar countered, his exasperation rising. Then more gently, he added, “He also didn’t know where I was. No one did—and, gentlemen, I include myself in that. I hardly knew I was alive. I had been poisoned by someone who did want me dead, but that person is a traitor to the Crown of Percheron. It was not sanctioned by Zar Boaz.”

  Ana wondered whether Lazar’s brief and yet carefully worded explanation was as much for her benefit as it was for the Galinseans’. She inclined her head graciously to both her Zar and the dignitaries but spoke quickly in the foreign language. “I understand that time is of the essence, gentlemen. Perhaps blame can be laid later. For now, let us explain to our Zar why I cannot act as his emissary.”

  Marius nodded. “Forgive us, Odalisque Ana. As I said, you would be ideal, except that your status as a slave in Percheron may risk insulting the royal family of Galinsea. I would politely recommend that your Zar send his most senior counselor or more appropriately, a royal.”

  “Neither will be possible,” Lazar cut in. “There are no true royals of Percheron, save the Zar himself. As for a senior counselor, the Grand Vizier has the highest status but he also is inappropriate.” He glared at Ana, who was frowning at him in query at his latter point.

  She held her silence, finally sighing softly and turning to her Zar. It was obvious to her that Lazar was not going to make this situation any easier.